


love in the afternoon

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, I think I covered all the bases, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Romance, Slow Burn, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Strangers to Lovers, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, i am once again too single to write fluff but here we are
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:07:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25146679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: ushijima decides his favourite sound is his name on your lips.
Relationships: Ushijima Wakatoshi & Reader, Ushijima Wakatoshi/Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 148





	love in the afternoon

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [progress](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24648859) by [over5feettall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/over5feettall/pseuds/over5feettall). 



**“Ushijima-san.”**

The look on your face when you hand him a folded piece of paper is an unreadable one. 

“What’s this?” he asks, taking it from you. 

“Don’t know,” you reply, already motioning to turn away. “Our homeroom teacher asked me to hand it to you. I didn’t bother looking at it.” 

“Thanks,” he says to no one, seeing as how you’ve returned to your seat without waiting for a reply. 

He’d be lying if he said he remembered your name. He knew who you were though, but only in terms of looks and seating arrangements. You were his classmate—the one who always sat up front by the window and left with her friends as soon as the last bell rang. 

Your interactions with him were barely present, the most being an “I’m sorry” when you bumped his table or an “excuse me” when he’s in a hurry and tries to get past you in the hallways, so he could make do without knowing your name anyways. 

**“Ushijima-kun!”**

The shrill of your voice when the volleyball bounces off his face and onto the sleek floors of the gym causes his ears to ring. You’d stopped by to watch them train, saying you had a little free time on your hands. 

Your indoor shoes create large thuds as you run towards him.

“Are you okay?” you ask, looking up at him with eyes full of worry. 

“Yeah,” he replies, bringing a hand to his nose to see if he’s broken it. “It’s no big deal.” 

“Oh, it’s a big deal alright,” you say, swatting his hand away with a frown on your face. “Your nose is bleeding.” 

“Oh.” 

You laugh at him, saying he should head to the nurse’s office so he could get fixed up. 

“I don’t need to,” he says, his eyebrows forming a crease on his forehead. There was no need to worry. It was just a nosebleed. 

“Stop being so stubborn.” You grab his hand, trying your best to drag him towards the exit of the gym. The two of you don’t get too far though, since he was too heavy for you to pull along. “It’ll take like, ten minutes tops.” 

“Okay.” He trails behind you, never letting go of your hand. 

**“Ushijima.”**

There’s a frustrated look on your face as you try to explain that people in Brazil, as a matter of fact, do not live their lives suspended upside down for what seems like the hundredth time. 

He’s already aware of this fact. He understood it the second time you’d explained it, but he can’t help but feel amused whenever you rub your hands up and down on your face with a funny look decorating your features. 

“Please, for the love of God, tell me you get it.” You slump over the worksheets and textbooks scattered across the library table. 

“I do,” he says, finally deciding that he’s given you enough stress for this study session. 

“Oh Thank God,” you reply, letting out a relieved sigh. “If I had to explain it one last time, I think I would’ve exploded.” 

“I was just joking, you know,” he says, watching as your expression switches from relaxed to confused, and finally, to horror when you realise he was playing dumb all along. 

“Ushijima!” 

He laughs, telling you to keep it down since the two of you were in the library. 

**“Ushi?”**

Your eyes scan the paper entitled “future plans” on his desk. His career path was linear, each box filled with jobs related to volleyball. 

He notices that yours is empty, save for your name, and wrinkled from the repeated act of erasing. He can make out the faded strokes that made up the word “pâtissière” and he wants to ask you why you’ve erased it, but he knows better than to push on the matter. 

“You’re so lucky, Ushi,” you say, leaning on the palm of your hand as your gaze settles on the bright blue sky beyond the windows. “You’ve got a steady path set out for you.” 

“I think you’re lucky too,” he says, taking the paper from underneath your arms and straightening it out as much as possible. “I think you’re lucky that you’ve got a world of possibilities beyond you, all waiting to be explored.” 

There’s a ghost of a smile on his face when he hands it back to you. You look dubious, though, as if you searched for even more comfort in his words. 

“And if it helps, I think the sweets you make are really nice.” 

You smile this time and it’s the smile that fills the bottom of his stomach with warmth—the smile where the sides of your eyes crinkle and your cheeks form a dimple on each side. 

**“Waka-kun.”**

You cover his head in a white towel, drying off his sweat like you would a freshly bathed dog. He isn’t sure what to feel upon making the analogy, but he supposes it’s fine upon seeing the smile on your face. 

“Good work today,” you say, humming a faint tune when you retract your hands from his head. 

“Thanks.” He takes the towel from your hands, towelling off his face and neck. 

He’s tired, to say the least, but the expression on his face is unchanging. He leans back against the cool concrete wall of the gym. Everyone else has their heads hung low, exhausted from the rather gruelling training session that had just taken place. 

“You looked really cool today, you know?” You slide down the wall, taking up the space beside him. 

He’s not quite sure what to say to that, so he gives you no reply. In turn, you inch closer to him, quickly shortening the distance between the two of you. 

Had he been good at math, perhaps he would have measured just how close you were—just exactly how many inches, centimetres, and millimetres close you were. Alas, Ushijima Wakatoshi wasn’t very good at math and measurements. 

“Training camp starts tomorrow, doesn't it?” you ask, leaning on his shoulder. “I guess I won’t see you for a while.” 

“Yeah.” He decides that he’d very much want to stay in this position a little longer; that he wishes to revel in the moment a little longer, but the sharp _fweet_ of Coach Waashijo’s whistle signalled the start of cool down stretches and clean-up. 

“I’ll go ahead,” you say, standing up before him and dusting off your skirt in the process. “Come over for dinner tonight, won’t you? I’ll be making hayashi rice.” 

He doesn’t miss the faint blush that tinges the tips of your ears and the ghost of a smile on your face. 

“I will,” he replies, watching as you quietly slink behind the gym doors and wave him goodbye. 

The rest of the team tease him for days after that, all of them wondering whether spring has arrived for Shiratorizawa’s Ushiwaka. 

**“Toshi?”**

You make his name, nickname in this case, sound so sweet—like it wasn’t some variant of Wakatoshi you were saying, but something much, much, sweeter. 

It makes his heart thrum. 

“Toshi, did you hear me?” you ask, cheeks tinted a light shade of pink. 

“I did,” he replies, blinking once, twice, and then thrice. “But I don’t know if I heard right.” 

You’d just confessed to him. Told him you like him more than a friend, but he isn’t quite sure whether he heard you right. For all he knows, you could’ve been saying something else; could’ve been saying “I like Futoshi.” Whoever or whatever Futoshi was, he didn’t know. 

“Should I repeat it for you then?” Your mischievous smile is a direct contrast to the deepening blush on your face. 

A part of him thinks it’s cute. 

“Sure,” he says, the corners of his lips forming the smallest of smirks. 

“I like you, Toshi.” You look away, finally feeling the heat of your statement. 

His smirk mellows down into a smile. So he _did_ hear you right the first time around. 

“I like you too.” 

**“Wakatoshi.”**

The afternoon sunlight frames your figure, making you seem otherworldly. The gentle smile on your face acts as a mere addition to his working theory that you are, in fact, an angel sent directly from heaven. 

Your hands trace the table lightly as you hum the tune to Hotaru no Hikari—the song that had been played repeatedly in the school’s gym. 

“It’s over, isn’t it?” you ask, a nostalgic look on your face. 

“It is,” he replies, watching as you pull out a chair and take your seat. 

“It’s been a fun three years.” You beckon him to take the seat parallel to yours, so he does. 

It’s quiet on the first floor. Everyone’s gone their own ways now, bidding their friends goodbye in the hallways and in front of the gates. 

Only they were left; or at least, that’s how it felt like. 

“When we first started talking, I was seated all the way here.” You stand up and walk to the very front of the classroom, standing right beside the desk by the window. “You were seated all the way there.” 

He doesn’t have to look back to know where your finger is aimed. He remembers your first meeting all too well. Back then, he thought that he’d get by just fine without knowing your name. 

“And then we just kept getting closer and closer,” you say, making your way back to the seat parallel to his. 

He wants to say something as well, but the words die down in his throat. He’s not too sure what it was he wanted to say either. _Well, look where we are now_ didn’t seem like a fitting statement to what you’d just said; neither did _and now here we are_ , so he keeps his mouth shut. 

“If I say I want to spend the rest of my life with you, would that seem too cheesy?” 

He swears his heart stops for a beat or two. Half a year, you two have been dating, and you _still_ knocked the wind out of his lungs every time you said something along those lines. 

“No,” he says once he’s finally regained his composure. “No, it doesn’t.” 

“Good!” The smile on your face is a wide one and it only tugs at his heartstrings even more. “I love you, Wakatoshi.” 

Throughout the course of his relationship with you, be it as friends or as lovers, Ushijima Wakatoshi has learned two things. 

One. He’s an absolute sucker for your smile. 

Two. His favourite sound is his name on your lips; rolling off your tongue like liquid gold. 

“ _I love you too_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> was jus thinkin about how ushijima would make the best cuddle buddy n this ,, happened ,,, ‧⁺✧(˶´⚰︎`˵)⁺‧ i love our resident southpaw and Big Babie™  
> ALSO!! title taken from [love in the afternoon](https://open.spotify.com/track/6jrN2KxD5jFSpmktxAQ6KD?si=U-_0Riz-TRORGgRnlDS7hg) by [lamp](https://open.spotify.com/artist/0rFHElzeddB9ymDjgpBENX?si=Ur0a0bMqRWybXUcrNZnrcw)!!!!  
> btw in case u didnt know hotaru no hikari is japan's graduation song!!! it's sung in the tune of auld lang syne :0  
> thx 4 readin (⁙˘꒫˘⁙)


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